Letting the Days Go By

Well that little gust of winter sure caught me off-guard. It was really just a few minutes worth though, wasn't it? The grey day sliding across the few little patches of pale blue still filtered through. The wind came up blowing leaves from trees, sent them hurrying across the road all around, started me thinking I should stop and pull on my arm warmers, but no, most of the ride was done, certainly all the dirt portions were, just this little pavement detour, before a straight shot down to home. And then, just like [snap] that, it was done, finished, sun returned to its rightful place.

There is water flowing Out There again, if you know where to look. I don't know why, but am pretty sure I know from whence it comes, returning sound to a stream-bed that was quiet just a week ago, falling quickly over round rocks or, more frequently around round rocks, calling birds (colly birds, or otherwise) to return, flit and flutter from cover to cover. Perhaps it awakens drowsing frogs, hidden beneath leaves, under stones, waiting waiting, their croaking another sound that may return, in January. Enticing new round clusters of purple sage blossoms to replace dried brown ones, hangers on from a year grown old. Patience. All in good time. The water gurgles, it bubbles, it babbles. Patience.

"... Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

Into the blue again, into the silent water

Under the rocks and stone, there is water underground..."

(Byrne, Esprit, Weymouth, Harrison, Frantz, Eno, Amanze)